Variations on Love
by thebeautifulbadass
Summary: Samar opens up to Aram in the wake of Liz's death. Takes place post-funeral, at the end of 3x20—it's Samar at Aram's door instead of Red. Contains Lizvabi and Saram feels. Disclaimed.


Aram woke to the muffled sound of knocking coming from his front door. He scrambled to pull the headphones from his ears—the album he'd been listening to before dozing off having long since ended—and the knocking instantly became clearer, sharper against his eardrums.

He pushed himself up from where he'd been sprawled on the couch and padded dully to the door, slouching down to peek through the peephole.

His heart sped up as he took in the distorted figure. Samar.

He quickly pulled open the door, but didn't know what on earth to do once he was staring into her face—blotchy and tear-streaked. Her eyes—puffy, red, wet.

Aram knew he didn't look or feel much better, but this was Samar. Strong, stoic Samar. His lips parted as he tried to think of what to say, but he was far too surprised to form coherent thoughts.

"Can I come in?" she finally asked, her voice lower than usual, almost gravelly.

"Oh, yeah, um, of course," Aram stuttered, coming to his senses and stepping back, holding the door open wider for her. He watched as Samar stepped over the threshold and walked past him. She stopped, unsure, glancing around the room, her eyes landing on the floor near her feet.

He closed the door, flipping back the lock, and took a couple tentative steps toward her. He wanted so badly to reach out and squeeze her shoulder, but instead he asked, "Do you, uh, want some water? Or something?"

Samar looked up at him and shook her head, trying to shoot him a grateful smile. "No, I'm okay."

Aram studied her face for a moment, his brow furrowing. "You don't seem okay," he admitted quietly.

Samar did manage a quavery smile then, her eyes glittering with tears. "I didn't know where else to go," she whispered.

Aram couldn't bear to see her like this. It was unnatural. It wasn't right. He instinctively took the few remaining steps forward and folded her into his arms, holding her tightly.

He felt her sag against him, then. Felt her forehead drop to his shoulder. Felt the way her body began to tremble weakly. Tears began to soak into the fabric of his T-shirt, and she clutched at him so desperately that he felt a jolt of panic rush through him. These were uncharted waters; seeing her like this scared him.

He felt her warm, irregular breaths against his chest, heard her choked sobs turn into open weeping. "Hey, hey, hey, you're okay, I've got you," he assured her, his voice a near-whisper as he held her more tightly still. She only cried harder, pained noises escaping her raw throat no matter how hard she was so obviously trying to keep them contained.

He simply held her, one hand cradled against her head, completely at a loss for what to do or say.

And then he heard her muffled voice, marred by irregular gasps and sobs, against his chest. "I have to tell someone, because if I don't, it will end up… lost to history. Insignificant. Like it wasn't real. And I _need_ it to be real, Aram. I don't want to forget."

Aram's brow furrowed. He was more than a little confused. But before he could say anything, Samar told him exactly what she didn't want to forget, her arms tightening around him.

"I loved her."

This didn't lessen his confusion. He already knew Samar loved Liz. They _all_ loved Liz. "I know, Samar, I-"

"No," she interrupted, taking a shaky breath that turned into a silent sob as it left her body. "I _loved_ her, Aram." She was silent for a moment, and then she brokenly repeated the simple yet oh so complicated phrase, whispering, "I loved her."

Just as the meaning of her words began to sink into Aram's brain, as he began to sort through the pieces of this information— _so all this time he'd been in love with Samar and Samar had been in love with Liz and Liz had been in love with Tom and_ —she unexpectedly jerked away from him. He caught a glimpse of the anguish on her face, her hand clutched over her mouth, as she lunged for the door, still trying desperately to swallow her sobs. "I have to go, I can't-"

Aram grabbed one of her hands just as the other landed on the doorknob. "No, no, no, no, you don't have to go," he insisted frantically. He tugged on her arm gently, then murmured softly, "Come here."

Her hand fell away from the doorknob, hanging limply by her side. She stared at him, unmoving, her eyes wide, pleading, overflowing. She tried to shake her head, but it barely moved.

Aram squeezed her hand, his attempt at a smile coming across as more of a wobbly grimace. "I miss her too," he said, his voice shaking.

That was all it took for Samar to give in. Her face collapsed as her head sank into her free hand, her grief dripping between her fingers. She pulled on Aram's arm just enough to let him know that she needed him.

He was there instantly, holding her again, tears sliding down his own cheeks now—for Samar, for Liz, for himself. He missed his friend, and this only made everything worse.

She wept raggedly into his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin. Every sound of pain she made felt like a knife jabbing his heart. "I'm so sorry," he managed to choke out through his own tears, holding her quaking body as closely as he could.

He'd hugged her before, but Aram could swear that she felt smaller this time, as if she were shrinking into him, her grief diminishing her. She made no move to return the embrace, simply allowing her rigid, closed-off body to be comforted, held upright.

It felt like ages that Samar cried there in his arms, eons that likely only lasted minutes, before she spoke again, her voice fragile, a pane of cracked glass ready to collapse at the tiniest gust of wind. "I didn't want to tell her. I never planned to. She already had so much going on in her life. But now…" she trailed off. Her voice suddenly became smaller, as if speaking quietly would make this moment of vulnerability disappear into a memory more quickly than it would otherwise: "It hurts knowing that she'll never know the truth."

Even though Aram hadn't seen her revelation coming—he'd had _absolutely no idea_ Samar cared for Liz as more than a friend—there was a sharp sense of understanding enveloping him that diminished his surprise, polishing his thoughts until they were shiny and clear. It only took him a few seconds to gather exactly the right words. "Even if she didn't know _the way_ you loved her, she knew you did," he assured her, closing his eyes and momentarily squeezing her even more tightly. "She knew you loved her, Samar. And that has to be enough." He exhaled heavily, his breath gently rustling her curls. "We have to let it be enough."

He could feel some of the tension draining out of her body, as if a delicate semblance of peace was settling over her now that the weight of such a heavy confession had been lifted from her shoulders. "She was the only person I've loved since Levi," she whispered, pulling back slightly, stepping out of his close embrace. Aram moved his hands to her arms, watching as her gaze fell to the floor, her eyes following the pattern on the rug beneath their feet. "I've lost so many people, but it never gets easier."

"That's because you're human," Aram replied instantly, a confused expression on his face, taken aback by the idea that she would think loss could ever be easy.

She looked up, a sad sort of amusement tugging at the edge of her lips as she noted the expression on his face. "Yeah, well. I've never considered myself very human," she said with a shrug, her gaze falling again to the floor.

His brow furrowed in concern, her words punching him in the gut. How was it possible that she saw herself so differently than he did? Than how Liz had seen her? He stood up straighter, his grip on her arms tightening ever so slightly. "You're human," he said, determination strengthening his voice. He waited for her to look up at him, and when she did, he stated simply, "You're a good human with a good heart."

She searched his face, and as she did, he searched hers—it was obvious that she was struggling not to break eye contact. "The people who make me feel human always leave," she admitted, her voice steady, her words straightforward.

"I'm not going to leave," Aram replied without hesitation. "I mean, not if I can help it." He suddenly became flustered as he realized what he'd implied. "Not that I, uh, think I'm one of those people, but, um… either way, I, uh, don't plan on going anywhere."

A tiny, genuine smile appeared on her face despite her overwhelming melancholy. "You're one of them, Aram. You're the only real friend I have left." Relief spread across his features, but it quickly diminished as she continued: "I'm sorry, though. I shouldn't be talking about any of this with you." She took a breath and sighed softly. "I know how you feel about me."

Aram's eyes widened momentarily, his face heating in embarrassment. He hadn't realized that his feelings had been so obvious, that he'd been so transparent all this time. There was a glint of apology and trepidation in her expression, as if she wished she hadn't brought up the subject of his unrequited feelings, broken their unspoken agreement to never acknowledge them.

But he shook his head, moving his hands to her shoulders, focusing his gaze intently on hers. "That doesn't matter," he insisted gently. "You're my friend, Samar. I'm your friend, and that's what you need me to be."

She blinked back a sudden swell of fresh tears, shooting him a sad, seemingly deliberate smile. "I don't deserve a friend like you," she murmured, repeating the words she'd said to him a few months earlier.

His lips twitched upward in a grin. "Well, you have one," he replied, repeating his own sentiment in return. "And, like I said, as long as you keep the bad guys with guns away from me, I'm not going anywhere."

"Don't joke about that," she mumbled, moving to punch him lightly in the chest, but instead pressing her palm against his heartbeat and then sliding her arms around him, hooking her chin over his shoulder and breathing deeply.

Aram ignored the flutter in his stomach at her touch and held her close once more.

After a moment of comfortable, warm silence, she spoke again, her trembling voice thick with emotion: "Do you think Tom will let me babysit Agnes?"

He could hear the tears in the back of her throat, the hopeful notes coloring her question. God, his heart hurt for her… He swallowed heavily and pressed his lips to the thick mass of curls covering the side of her head.

"Yeah," he answered. "I bet he will."


End file.
